Bedtime Stories
by LostInBlueSkies
Summary: The team solves a case about a nine-year old girl being stabbed in her bed -last chapter, in greg's POV, S/G
1. Sara

Bedtime Stories  
  
by Marita Linde  
  
Part 1  
  
My alarm went off at exactly 7:10 that Monday morning and I reached over to turn it off. I let my hand rest there for a few minutes before groaning and deciding mentally that I should get out of bed and get dressed. Running the fingers of one hand through my hair, I used the other to pry the thin white cotton sheets off of myself and roll to the ground.  
  
My head was foggy from still being half asleep as I rummaged through my drawers looking for something to wear. I finally decided on a pair of jeans and a red shirt. Not too special, not too flashy, but very Sara.  
  
I barely trusted myself to drive that morning. My head was throbbing and fuzzy, and I could barely see straight. I massaged my temples lightly as I crawled into my Mercedes. I felt like I could collapse any minute, but for some strange reason I was happy as hell.  
  
You know those days when you just know everything's going to turn out well? Maybe "well" had a different meaning in the C.S.I. of Las Vegas, but it was certainly there none-the-less. There was a feeling down in the pit of my stomach that today was going to bring revelations. Big ones.  
  
As I drove I saw certain houses coming to life, probably with children who attended school. Lights turned on in a couple of rooms, cars backed out of driveways, street lights turned off as soon as the sun started beating down on the city. You've got to love Las Vegas.  
  
I took my sunglasses off and walked down to meet Grissom and the rest of the team, find out what our assignment was today. Inside I guiltily hoped it was a big case, something that would take everything in me to solve. I was always up to a challenge.  
  
  
  
"Sara." Grissom greeted me with no enthusiasm, no smile. Good, I thought. He's in a good mood too.  
  
Catherine winked at me, Nick gave me a toothy grin, and Warrick a soft smile and pat on the shoulder. Life as it was. Another normal day begins.  
  
"We're all on a case downtown. Brass gave me the address and nothing else. What do you say we find out the rest?" Grissom asked, a hint of mystery in his voice. I rolled my eyes, but smiled. As I passed him in the hall I nudged him in the arm.  
  
"How you doing, Gris?" I asked, genuinely interested.  
  
He looked surprised that I had asked. "Fine." He said finally. "You?"  
  
"Great, thanks. I have a feeling it's going to be a good day." He didn't seem to share my enthusiasm.  
  
"Don't get your hopes up." Was all he said, then went to catch up with Catherine.  
  
  
  
We arrived at the house on Sunset Road about 8:30 AM that morning. Brass was waiting outside to fill us in on the crime scene. As we walked toward him I got a funny feeling in my stomach and was reminded again of the queasy way I had felt that morning. "I hope I'm not coming down with something." I said to myself.  
  
"Fill us in, my man." Warrick requested.  
  
"Nine year-old girl was found half-dead in her bed this morning. Stab wounds. She's being carted off to the ICU as we speak, in a coma. Here's the gist of it. Her older sister, a fourteen year-old, sleeps on the bunk on top of the girl's. Said she slept through the whole night, didn't wake up once. It wasn't even her that found the body, it was the other sister, a seventeen year-old who sleeps in another bedroom. There's no evidence of forced entry anywhere in the house. So it looks like this was an inside job." He stopped, raised his eyebrows and opened the door of the house. "Have fun."  
  
My mind was in a daze. A nine year-old girl? Stabbed in her own bed? Who would do such a terrible thing? If Brass was right, and it was an inside job, then I didn't even want to meet the family. Probably creepy welfare collectors with shifty eyes and cool expressions. I shivered involuntarily.  
  
We walked up the stairs into the bedroom. A young teenaged girl stood in the middle of the room staring at the bottom bunk, dressed in nothing but pajamas. Her eyes were red with crying. She looked surprised to see us.  
  
"Excuse me Miss, this is our crime scene. We're either going to have to ask you to leave or stand off to the side, OK?" Nick asked. I couldn't take my eyes off the girl. She was pretty. Brown and red hair, messed up and hardly in a pony, it hung around her face. She had green eyes and big red lips. Her expression was that of a confused little child.  
  
"What are you doing?" She asked, the tears welling up in her eyes as she watched Grissom take a blood sample from one of the painted steel bars of the girls' bunk bed.  
  
Catherine leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Maybe you should talk to her a while to calm her down, so we can get some work done?" I nodded.  
  
"Excuse me, Miss? What's your name?" I asked her, leading her to the edge of the room, away from the rest of the team.  
  
"Desiree." She answered. "Desiree Wallace." She looked at me closely. I could hardly stand to see her eyes, cloudy and devastated. "My sister's name is...it's Kortnee. Kortnee Jamison Wallace. She's nine."  
  
I half-smiled. "I know. Are you two close?"  
  
She ignored my question. "Will she be OK?"  
  
I shook my head. "I'm not really aware of Kortnee's condition.." I stopped when I saw the sad expression on Desiree's face. "But I'm sure she'll be just fine." I finished.  
  
The girl looked at the ground. "Are you two close?" I asked again.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we're five years apart. I feel like I gotta protect her and stuff, you know? She's like my kid sometimes." She exhaled shakily and managed, "I guess I didn't do a very good job of that last night, did I?" before bursting into tears again.  
  
  
  
After realizing there wasn't much room for me at the crime scene, I walked downstairs to interview the rest of the family. The file Brass had given me told me Kortnee had a brother, two sisters and a mom and dad. I decided to start with Jonas, the brother. He was eighteen.  
  
"Jonas Wallace, I'm Sara Sidle with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. What can you tell me about what happened last night?" I sauntered over to the young man. He was about six foot and had sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.  
  
"Not much." He answered. Tears also stained his cheeks. "I slept...through the whole night. Didn't hear a thing. Although, the dog did bark around eleven, eleven-thirty. But he barks all the time, just starts up like that."  
  
I nodded. Made a note of it in my mind. "Were you home all last night?"  
  
"No. I got home around eleven from the movies with my girlfriend. Went online till about quarter to twelve, then crawled into bed and didn't wake till about six this morning, when Jessica found Kortnee." He answered, wiping his face with the back of his hand.  
  
I turned around and saw Jessica. Tall, leggy, raven-haired with smooth ivory skin. She was gorgeous, and she looked traumatized. I walked over and introduced myself. She didn't bother to shake my hand.  
  
"Can I ask you some questions, Jessica? Would that be OK?" She nodded slowly and sat herself down on the multi-coloured sofa set against the wall of that room. Her mouth remained tightly shut.  
  
"How did you find Kortnee?" I asked. She didn't answer. Just covered her face with her hands, and I saw her shoulders shake with sobs. I was about to ask her if she wanted to be questioned another time when she sighed.  
  
"I went into Desiree and Kortnee's room that morning to wake Dessy up for work. I opened the door, called out 'Des, time to get up for work!'." She stopped. Her eyes clouded. "She didn't wake up right away so I walked into the room and was going to shake her. That's when I saw Kortnee lying there, in her own blood. Covered in it. I screamed and screamed until Jonas and Bradley came into the room. Then I got Dessy to call 911 while the rest of us woke up mom, dad and Hide."  
  
I nodded. "This might seem like a strange question, but...do you normally have to go into the room to wake up Desiree?"  
  
"No, I've never had to before." She answered. "She must have had a bad night."  
  
"Desiree told me she slept through the whole night."  
  
"Well, it's probably just a coincidence." Jessica said. "I mean, why else wouldn't she wake up right away?"  
  
"Maybe she wasn't asleep. Perhaps she was awake and knew what had happened to Kortnee? Maybe she didn't say anything on purpose." I suggested, then watched Jessica's stunned expression enfold before my eyes.  
  
"Dessy didn't stab Kortnee. She didn't. It's not even a possibility."  
  
"There's no sign of forced entry."  
  
"Well then you're just going to have to look harder, because nobody in this house attacked our youngest sister." She said angrily, then wiped her tears and stood. "I'm not answering any more of your questions. As if I didn't have enough to deal with this morning."  
  
I shrugged and watched her leave the room. Grissom came sauntering down the stairs and stopped at the doorway where I sat. "C'mon Sara, we've got to get to the hospital before they clean the kid up. We don't want to lose any of our evidence."  
  
"And you need me along, because?" I asked, watching as a slight smile crept onto his face.  
  
"I thought you might wanna come..." He waited for me to reply but I said nothing. Then, offering it as his last persuasive remark, "There's no room for you at the crime scene, and Catherine's assigned to the interviewing."  
  
I followed him out the door.  
  
  
  
I watched Grissom as he drove. When I first met him I thought that if I stared hard enough at his face, a glorious light would suddenly illuminate our surroundings and every one of his emotions would suddenly be revealed to me. So far, no such luck, but...I was always up to a challenge.  
  
"Did you talk to the family?" Finally he spoke.  
  
"Yeah. I talked to the youngest brother, and both the sisters. They all seem pretty shocked. Desiree, she's the one who shares a room with Kortnee, she seems wracked with guilt."  
  
"How lucky for her." He said. "You are aware she's our number one suspect?"  
  
"Naturally. She shared a room with the little girl, how could she have not heard anything?" I asked. I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted him to think I was going along with him, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to think I agreed with him.  
  
"Lots of ways. But we're not there yet. We're not there until we get some evidence to prove our theories right." I noticed his eyes never strayed from the windshield.  
  
"I don't think she did it." I guess I made up my mind on that subject.  
  
"Any particular reason, or is it just a gut feeling?" He asked. I didn't answer. "No reason?" I thought it was strange he wanted to know so badly. Might as well humour him.  
  
"Sure. Love." I turned away from him purposely.  
  
"Love?"  
  
"Desiree loves Kortnee too much to kill her. Their whole room was covered with photographs of the two of them together. Kortnee had the bigger bunk. Desiree felt guilty and horribly devastated after Kortnee was stabbed. And she didn't say anything negative towards me while being interviewed." I sighed. "Those are some of the signs of an innocent suspect."  
  
"Love doesn't guide everything." ,was all he replied with. I wanted to say it did, but I had to think about whether or not I really believed that.  
  
"What doesn't it guide?" I asked. "Murder-wise, I mean."  
  
He didn't answer at first. I begged him silently to look at me, even for a split-second. But his eyes remained on the road.  
  
"I'm not sure." He answered. "But people can love someone and still murder them."  
  
"It's not real love, then."  
  
"What do you mean? Do you mean it's not actually love or it's not all that love can be?" He asked. We arrived at the hospital. Grissom parked the Tahoe and turned to look at me. Mental high five. His eyes looked through mine and I knew I would have to answer.  
  
"It's not loving someone with the capacity that you have to love someone. Not if you kill them. Then it's closer to hate." I managed, before my voice began to falter from the strength of his gaze.  
  
"And exactly how large is, say, my capacity to love someone?"  
  
"You'd be surprised." I answered, aware that I had just accused him of never truly loving.  
  
"I have been."  
  
I broke his gaze. Uncomfortable, I opened the side door and exited the Tahoe. "We'd better check that girl over while we still can."  
  
"Never mind the girl, Sara. She isn't exactly going to go anywhere." He said, looking at me again after he shut his door.  
  
"You said yourself they'd clean her up if we took too long."  
  
"How large is your capacity to love someone, Sara?"  
  
"I wouldn't know." I answered simply and walked into the hospital. 


	2. Catherine

Bedtime Stories  
  
Marita Linde  
  
Author's notes: Thanks to Katie for helping me with this. Sorry if the story-line goes a little slowly, but I promise I'll keep it interesting. I promise :) Please review. I'll try and get part 3 out as soon as possible. Enjoy  
  
Part 2  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Catherine  
  
The crime scene was... well... interesting. Gil had assigned me to gathering statements from the family, but I didn't want to go just yet. As a mother, I notice a lot of things that most people don't, and the love in this room was one of them.  
  
There was fluffy grey carpet beneath my feet. Pretty pink and cream wallpaper adorned the walls, and pink and cream comforters lay across both of the bunks. The bottom one-the one Kortnee had slept in- was a double, and the top one was a single.  
  
I noticed right away that these walls were not decorated the way a normal teenager's would be. Instead of rock star posters and pictures of young men's faces hanging off of them, there were beautifully framed pictures of friends, family, but most of all..the two sisters. Kortnee's childhood was carefully, meticulously followed. From security blankets to school, not an important moment had been missed.  
  
Artwork played an important role in the theme of the bedroom, also. The most amazing of the pencil drawings was one of Kortnee. The artist had drawn her so well, the lines in her face, her eyebrows, her smile. But most of all, she had captured her eyes. The eyes in the drawing looked at you with the same beautiful innocence that I often saw in my daughter. The signature below Kortnee's childish face read Desiree Wallace.  
  
I looked around the room some more. "No mirrors." I commented softly to myself. Apparently, Warrick overheard.  
  
"Doesn't seem natural for a teenaged girl not to have a mirror lying around." He commented, then held up a plastic bag in front of my eyes. "Hair. Found it on the bed."  
  
I tried to smile. "Warrick..." I began, but trailed off. His eyes stared back at me.  
  
"What is it, Cat?" He asked, setting his hand on my shoulder. "You OK?"  
  
"She loved her." I said simply, and pointed to the wooden plaque hanging above Desiree's dresser drawer. "'Chance made us sisters, Hearts made us friends.'" I read aloud.  
  
His mouth stretched into a sympathetic smile.  
  
"Lindsay's nine, Warrick." For the first time that morning I let my emotions play out on my face.  
  
He pulled me in for a hug, and I didn't stop him.  
  
"All right, all right. Break it up." Nick said jokingly, poking Warrick in the ribs as he walked toward us. "Hey, Cat, check this out. I found a hair that's a different colour than the one Warrick found. And, I got a lot of fibers from the bed, the ground, and a lot of different blood samples, since there's so much blood on the blanket...you never know if the killer might have cut himself..."  
  
"Any fingerprints?" I asked, curious.  
  
"Just gonna dust." Nick answered, then cracked me a smile.  
  
A thought came to my mind. "Don't forget the window pane."  
  
Warrick and Nick frowned. "Why the window pane?" Warrick asked. "There's no sign of forced entry." He walked over to the window. "Look, the glass is intact, the lock isn't even smashed in."  
  
I shrugged. "Just a gut feeling."  
  
  
  
The time came when I actually did force myself to go down and gather statements from the family. I'll never forget Desiree's face as I spoke with her. So dark, so confused. So utterly devastated.  
  
"Desiree, what can you tell me about last night?" I asked her, trying my best to control the level of emotion in my voice.  
  
She stared at her bare feet. "I came home from school, watched TV, had supper, went to singing lessons, came home, checked my e-mail and then I talked on the phone with my boyfriend till around ten." She answered. My eyebrows rose.  
  
"Then?"  
  
"Then I went to bed. Same as usual." Her eyes suddenly moistened. "I saw Kortnee lying there, I bent down to kiss her goodnight on the cheek..." She sniffled, and her voice cracked. "Then I went to sleep."  
  
My own lip quivered. Her eyes locked with mine and we shared a mental hug. She leaned forward to whisper to me, "I didn't do it...I swear, Miss Willows, I swear I didn't."  
  
I finally let that silent tear roll down my cheek. Nodding slowly, I patted her shoulder. "Just one more question. After you found your sister this morning, did you touch her at all? Hug her one last time, anything like that?"  
  
She shook her head quickly. "No way. Even I know you're not supposed to do that."  
  
  
  
Back at the lab I sat at the table in the lunch room, my finger slowly swirling around the handle of my coffee cup. My eyes watched the black liquid and marveled at how much it resembled the situation Desiree and her family were in right now. Dark, stormy....hopeless.  
  
Lost in thought, I didn't even realize Greg had wandered into the room and stood behind me. "Not thirsty?" he asked, and I jumped in surprise.  
  
"Nah," I answered, once I turned and saw it was him. "Not for coffee, anyhow."  
  
He walked to the fridge. "Want some Pepsi?" His eyes anticipated my answer.  
  
I smirked. "Why the hell not?"  
  
He chuckled softly. Once he had sat beside me, I noticed for the first time the dark rings under his eyes and the tear-stains on his cheeks.  
  
"You don't look so good, Greg." I commented, hinting at him to share his misery.  
  
He stared ahead. "I know." His shaky sigh made me even more curious. "You working on the Wallace case?"  
  
I was surprised he knew the last name of the victim. None of the evidence had even been processed yet. Grissom and Sara weren't even back from the hospital. My brow crinkled in confusion, but I decided to answer anyhow. "Yeah." I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. "Sad."  
  
"Yeah," He agreed. "Did you know Jessica Wallace is my girlfriend?" He asked, sounding just like a teenaged boy.  
  
"No, I didn't."  
  
A tear rolled down his nose. "I loved Kortnee, too."  
  
"Any idea who might have done it?" I asked, trying desperately to rid the room of the awkwardness it already contained.  
  
"Nobody in that family, I can tell you that right now. And that isn't just any hunch." He swiped his hand across the surface of the table, with it catching a piece of paper. "Gotta go check the DNA on the hair Warrick and Nick found at the crime scene." I nodded and he stood.  
  
He began to walk out of the room before turning back towards me and leaning one hand on my shoulder. "She didn't do it, Cat. I swear she didn't do it. I knew her. Mind of a genius and a heart of gold...I swear she didn't do it."  
  
Once he had left I voiced aloud the question that had been bothering me all day. "If Desiree Wallace didn't do it, then who the hell did?"  
  
  
  
I was watching Greg as he worked. He was so close to coming to a conclusion on the hair. The first one had been Kortnee's, the second Desiree's, but Grissom and Sara had come back from the hospital with another one that they found in the wound.  
  
"If it's Desiree's, we knew she was lying, either when she told Catherine she didn't touch the body after she woke up, or to Sara when she said she slept through the whole night." Grissom commented.  
  
Sara nodded, and with a gleeful grin, "And if she was lying, she was trying to hide something."  
  
Greg's eyes were fixed on his work, a small bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. After around ten minutes he looked up, a sad expression on his face.  
  
"Got the results?" I asked him, and he nodded.  
  
"The hair Grissom and Sara found tests positive as Desiree Wallace's." 


	3. Grissom

Part 3

Grissom

Author''s notes: OK, so I''m doing Grissom''s POV this chapter..please be gentle. I have never attempted to get inside of his mind and I must say, I''m not exactly looking forward to it. But, I will do it as well as I can. I always seem to do the men characters better than the female ones (what does THAT say about me?) so you never know.

Thanks: As usual, KatieBugg :) Also, I''d like to thank ALL my friends (Yes, all of you) for putting up with my incessant blabbing about Warrick being shirtless.

Enjoy.

Desiree Wallace...Desiree Wallace... The name floated around my head for those few, precious hours while I lay on my brown couch, gently coaxing the sleep that never came. All night my mind had searched for reasons why Desiree''s hair would be in her little sister''s stab wound, but none came. Except, she stabbed her. And for some odd reason, I didn''t want to believe that. I didn''t even want to think about it.

Catherine had been devastated. I saw it in her eyes, that same deep hollow of emptiness that I had, so many times, seen in Sara''s face. Except this case Sara was fine with. Oh sure, I saw the tears in her eyes when she saw Kortnee Wallace lying motionless in that hospital bed. But as soon as we got back to the lab she was fine again. Normal.

The case really hadn''t irked me all that much. At least, I told myself that. Just a little girl with a couple blood spots on her brand new pink cow pajamas. That''s what my actions, my facial expressions, and my words convinced everyone else of. But inside I knew better. Inside, when I looked at Kortnee, I saw Lindsey. No wonder Catherine couldn''t sleep.

The next day at work I had a migraine. The pounding sensation in my head kept getting stronger with every passing second. Thump. Thump. Thump. I sighed and went into the lunch room to get some coffee.

""Morning Grissom,"" Sara greeted. She was already seated in one of the chairs around the table. Her hair was loose today, and it hung around her face. She smiled. I noticed the colour of her shirt matched her lipstick. A slight glance with one eye under the table told me she was wearing her favourite pair of jeans.

""You look nice today,"" I commented, pouring some coffee into my mug and sitting myself down beside her. ""New jeans?""

She looked down at what she was wearing. ""Oh these? No, I''ve had them forever. They''re my favourite."" I nodded as if it was new information.

I wanted to look at her some more, to breathe in her scent, to press my lips against hers and taste her cherry-red lipstick. Instead I said, ""My head is killing me.""  
""You look a little tense."" She said, and took a sip of her Diet Coke. ""I''ve got an Extra Strength Advil in my purse, you want it?""

I shook my head. ""If I use it, you''ll have a headache all day.""

""I don''t have a headache.""

""Why''d you bring an Advil, then?"" I asked, massaging my temples and grimacing as the pain grew stronger.

She shrugged. ""Thought you might need one."" She stood up and I was very aware of her hand on my shoulder. ""Tell me if you want the pill, OK? I''m going to the washroom.""

I sat in the center of the room. The room that seemed empty now that she was gone.

Desiree sat in a chair across the table from me. She was nervously intertwining her hands together and her eyes shifted between Sara and I. Back and forth. Like a fish in a fish-bowl.

""Desiree, you didn''t happen to touch Kortnee after your sister found her that morning, did you?"" I asked, leaning slightly against the table.

""No, I told Miss Willows that already. I know you''re not supposed to do that."" She answered softly. Her hand went up to smooth away the wisp of red-brown hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

""How did you know that?"" Sara asked.

""Greg told me. You know, that guy that works in DNA?"" She answered simply. ""He taught me a lot of things about forensics. The rest I read.""

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Sara. ""You read about forensic science?"" Sara asked, keeping the expression out of her voice.

""Sure. I read about everything."" Desiree was now oddly calm. She rested her elbows on the table. My eyes followed her every move. She seemed to offer the next statement more as a topic for conversation then for anything else, ""I read Jane Eyre when I was in the fourth grade.""

I wanted to ask her if she had liked it, but I refrained. ""Well, Miss Wallace, if you''re so literate in the subject of forensic science, then you''ll know that us finding your hair in your sister''s wound wouldn''t exactly be a good thing. Especially if you didn''t touch the body after you found it this morning.""

Her eyes widened. ""That isn''t possible. It must be somebody else''s hair. I didn''t touch Kortnee. Not during the crime OR after it."" She looked from me to Sara. ""You''ve got to believe me.""

""Whether we believe you, Desiree, has little relevance."" Sara stated. ""We''ve got evidence that you were there, and chances are there''s going to be more to support our theory when we go back to the crime scene this afternoon.""

Her eyes welled up with tears. ""This can''t be happening..."" She trailed off. ""Oh Geez.."" She lifted her arms up to her face to wipe away the tears on her cheeks and I noticed a big blue bruise on her left shoulder.

""Desiree,"" I said. She looked up. ""What happened?"" I pointed to the bruise.

She shrugged. ""No idea."" I looked closer. Four small bruises all in a row. Knuckle bruises.

""Someone punched you."" I said. She looked at her arm again.

""You can tell that just by looking at the bruise?"" She asked, amazed.

Sara nodded. I sat back in my chair, already deep in thought. ""Well, don''t worry, it''s nothing. Are you guys done, can I go?"" She asked the question while staring at me, her big eyes afraid of the answer.

""Yeah, you can go.""

""Are you thinking what I''m thinking?"" Sara asked me once she had left. I nodded.

""Abusive boyfriend.""

""I found some prints on the window-ledge."" Nick said absent-mindedly, walking into the locker room. ""Warrick''s processing them as we speak.""

I looked at him briefly before continuing with my inspection of the crime scene photos. ""The window-ledge?"" I asked.

He shrugged. ""There''s no sign of a broken lock, broken glass or broken screen, but Catherine had a-""

""Gut feeling."" I cut him off and smiled. ""Yeah. She usually does. How were the prints positioned?""

""Facing outwards, like the person had climbed in through the window."" I looked up, surprised. How could he have not found that suspicious? ""It''s weird, though. Because if the person had climbed through the window, they had to have been breaking in, but nothing was broken.""

""Why do you say they had to be breaking in? Maybe they were welcome.""

""But if they were welcome, then why didn''t they come in through the door instead of the window? Sounds a little strange to me."" He finished tying up his boots and stood. ""I''m going to go check on Warrick''s progress.""

My mind clicked. ""Nick, wait.""

He turned around. ""Desiree Wallace has a boyfriend."" I said. "An abusive boyfriend." I raised my eyebrows and he smiled with new-found glee.

""I''ll go check on Warrick."" He said, and left me alone with my pictures.

TBC--please review


	4. Warrick

Part Four  
  
Warrick  
  
  
  
Author's notes: OK, sorry this one took me so long. Truth is, I had chapter four all done and ready to be posted when suddenly my computer decided to crash just before I had it saved. And something of course HAS to go screwy with the backup copy, so I had to rewrite this. Anyways, here it is. Hope you like it. PLEASE REVIEW.  
  
Thanks to all of you who have already reviewed. Especially Sara, who was nice enough to IM me :):):)  
  
Oh, and I use the term "fish bowl" in this part. I got it from another fan fic, I forget which one it was, but she used that term. I was glad she did because before I read it I had no idea what that room was called. Thanks a lot, author! You know who you are, I guess! Also, the line "sweating like the pig that knows he's dinner" is taken from the episode Adventures In Paradise, Part Two of Frasier.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
  
  
Grissom came walking toward me that afternoon with a satisfied grin on his face. "Me and Catherine checked out the crime scene again. Everything was cleaned up. Everything. The maid had come. She comes every two or three days. She says she cleaned up every inch of the bedroom the morning before the crime was committed, which means that those fingerprints on the window- ledge had to be from that night, since we found them the morning after the crime. So, we get the boyfriend, print him, and he matches our window-ledge friends. He's in the fish bowl right now." He raised his eyebrows at me and smiled. "Wanna watch him squirm?"  
  
I laughed and shook my head. "No thanks man. I just got a call from the hospital, our victim woke up." Grissom looked surprised.  
  
"Why didn't they call me?" He asked.  
  
I pointed to his belt. "Is your cell on?" He looked down and shook his head.  
  
"Oops." He headed toward the door to the fish bowl room. "You sure you don't want to watch for just one second?" He asked again.  
  
"Aren't you the least bit excited that our only eye witness woke up? She could be the missing link, Grissom!" I said.  
  
His eyes twinkled. "She suffered a severe blow to the head, remember Warrick? She was probably unconscious the whole time the guy was stabbing her." My heart sank to my stomach. Damn. There goes our last chance.  
  
Sara walked toward us. "The boyfriend is sweating like the pig that knows he's dinner." She said gleefully. "Hey Warrick, ya wanna watch?" She asked.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Just for a second." I said, then walked to the large window that looked into the room. A young boy sat in one of the chairs, opposite Grissom and Sara, who had just arrived. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. And Sara was right, he looked awful nervous.  
  
I watched him get even more nervous while Grissom questioned him for a while, but got sick of it and walked away. I wanted more than anything to get to that hospital and find out if the little girl remembered anything. Anything at all.  
  
  
  
I watched Kortnee through the window in the door of her hospital room. She was lying in bed, covered in tubes, but her eyes were wide open and she didn't look like she was in much pain. "God bless Morphine." I said, chuckled softly to myself, and opened the door.  
  
"Kortnee Wallace?" I asked. She looked up and smiled weakly. "I'm Warrick Brown from the crime unit. I'm here to ask you a few questions. Is that OK, do you think you can stay awake long enough?"  
  
"Maybe. I'm real tired though." She looked at me with wide eyes, all the same. "I like your name. It's nice."  
  
"Thanks. I like your name, too." I took her tiny hand in mine and watched it as it hung there, almost lifeless. "Do you remember anything about what happened to you a few nights ago?"  
  
I held my breath, waited for her reply. Her eyes filled up with tears and her shaky voice filled the room. "Where's Dessy? I want to talk to Dessy." She started to cry silently, and my heart broke.  
  
"Kortnee, I'm sorry. Dessy can't talk to you right now, she's not here." I watched as her face grew more afraid. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I'm here to help. I'm a good guy." I searched desperately for a way to prove it to her. I showed her my badge. "You see this? This says that I'm a police officer, and that I won't hurt you."  
  
She fingered the outline of it and then threw me a lopsided grin. "OK, I believe you." Then she sighed in a weak, childish way. "I don't really remember what happened except for that it hurt a lot. And cold hands."  
  
I nodded. "Anything else?"  
  
She shook her head. "Why can't I talk to Dessy? I really miss her a lot."  
  
"The police officers think that maybe your sister was the one to stab you." The wheels in her little mind turned. She looked confused, but spoke.  
  
"No. Dessy went away that night, to her boyfriend's house. Because he came over that day and he hit me, right in the face. And I cried, and Dessy cried too. So she said that night she was gonna sneak over to his house and break up with him cause he was mean to me. She couldn't tell Mommy and Daddy because they didn't even know Dessy was with that guy. They didn't even like him. And then I was sleeping, and I got woken up by him in my bedroom, and I got hit on the head with something from behind as soon as I sat up, cause I was looking for Dessy out the bedroom door, and then after that I don't know what happened, except that I'm lying here talking to you, that's all I remember."  
  
I sat back, shocked. Well, there goes Brian Dawson's plea of innocence. Looks like we got ourselves a genuine eye witness.  
  
  
  
I practically ran through five red lights on my way back to the lab. I had, of course, taped everything that Kortnee had said, because you never know if she could fall back into a coma. And then our case would be lost again.  
  
One thought ran through my mind my entire drive home. I was going to catch that sick bastard, put him in jail, and see to it that he received the longest sentence in the state of Nevada's power for a crime like this.  
  
And I hope the bastard rots in hell, I thought. 


	5. Nick

Part Five  
  
Nick  
  
Author's notes: This is the second to last chapter of the story. I pretty much wrap up the case in this chapter, but next chapter will be more emotions and feelings of the characters, plus wrapping up all the personal relationship things, etc. You'll see when we get there, I suppose. I must first warn you, however, that I have never understood the character of Nick Stokes. Sometimes he's sleazy, other times he's adorable. Some times he gets under your skin and other times you just love him, but you don't know why. So, therefore, I have tried my hardest to make Nick like he is on the show but I gotta tell you, it ain't easy.  
  
Thanks: Thanks goes to Tash, for helping me with a few minor details. Ever the CSI expert ;) –wink. Oh, and Tash, we really need to go out and buy a Tahoe.  
  
Enjoy. Please review, PLEASE REVIEW.  
  
  
  
This case was driving me crazy. I hated these evidence-free environments. My mind told me it was the boyfriend, but what did I know? There was no murder-weapon, but Sara and Grissom were working on getting a warrant to search the kid's house.  
  
Greg teaching Desiree about forensic science made it even more confusing. He always talked to me about his "girlfriend Jessica", but I had no idea he was close to her sisters. He had been devastated when he found the hair in Kortnee's wound was a DNA match to Desiree. But I had a feeling, an unspoken feeling, that she wasn't behind this.  
  
Grissom and Sara exited the fish bowl room and grinned when they saw me standing in the hallway. Gil pulled out a piece of paper and swung it in front of my face. "Oh how I love warrants.." he began in a mocking tone. Sara chuckled and I rolled my eyes.  
  
"You love catching the bad guys, don't you Gris?" I asked him, and his eyes twinkled.  
  
"That's why the bad guys hate me." He said, and winked at Sara before walking the opposite way down the hall. "You coming, Nick? We've got a boy's bedroom to search through."  
  
"Yippee.." I said, the lack of enthusiasm evident in my voice. "Hey Sara, did you find anything on the victim other than the hair and the head wound?" I asked, curious.  
  
"A couple yellow fabrics, which we tested and it turns out they're cotton. Probably from a t-shirt or a sweater or something." She answered. "The victim was wearing all blue, so they have to be the perp's."  
  
"Do you think she might still have evidence on her?" I asked. "Maybe you missed something?"  
  
She looked hurt. "What do you mean, I missed something? I never miss anything." She said defensively.  
  
I raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. "You were with Grissom, Sar... who knows what was going through your mind?" She glared at me before I followed Grissom out to the Tahoe.  
  
  
  
"What are you doing here?" A middle-aged woman yelled at us, blocking the doorway with her large frame. "You can't just come into my house like this, it's against the law."  
  
Grissom flashed his precious warrant. "Actually, we can. Your son is under scrutiny for attempted murder." He half-smiled. "And he's got evidence in his bedroom."  
  
"Step aside, ma'am." I ordered, while Sara laughed behind me. "Let us do our jobs."  
  
We walked up the stairs to the suspect's bedroom. It was miraculously clean, not an item left on the floor. The bed was made, the windows were clean, the walls were spotless. Except for one thing. There was a hole in one of them.  
  
"What's this?" I asked, moving closer. "It looks like it was made by a large, flat object..just like the thing that was used to conk Kortnee Wallace in the temple." Sara took a picture.  
  
"Any ideas what that object might be?" She asked, bending down to search through a folded pile of clothes lying in the corner of the room.  
  
"Piece of heavy wood?" Grissom suggested, ransacking the boy's dresser drawer. "A crowbar?" He said, lifting up the piece of equipment he found in one of the drawers.  
  
"Bingo." I said, walking towards him. "Any blood?"  
  
"Nope. Not surprising, there was no blood on the girl's head either." He said, packing the crowbar away in a plastic evidence bag.  
  
"Any luck on yellow clothing?" I asked Sara. She only shook her head, deep in thought. "I'm going to search the closet for a knife."  
  
"Good thinking." Grissom told me, then yelled out, "A YELLOW SHIRT!", holding up his discovery for us to see. Sara and I both laughed loudly.  
  
"Awesome." Sara said simply, and smiled at him sweetly. "Now keep looking, and don't yell, I have a headache."  
  
I started looking through the stuff the boyfriend had in his closet. "Well, I guess now we know why his room is so clean," I said, pointing to the mountains of junk lying on the ground of the closet. They both looked over and gave off surprised glances. Sara walked towards where I was standing.  
  
"Teenagers.." She stated, then sat down on the ground beside the pile of clothes and started rummaging through it.  
  
I looked on the top shelf. A couple CD's, some textbooks, and...my fingers touched something sharp and cold. "Oh this is just too easy!" I shouted out, and pulled the knife down to meet my eyes. "Here's our murder weapon."  
  
"Any blood?" Grissom asked.  
  
"More good news. It's covered. Something tells me this kid doesn't exactly plan well."  
  
  
  
We searched the bedroom for a while longer. Sara came up with a couple more yellow cotton articles of clothing. Along with a couple hairs from the window, bed, and door, plus the crowbar and knife, we had struck gold.  
  
"Now you know why I love warrants so much." Grissom said as we walked out of the house carrying our kits.  
  
"Yup." Sara agreed. We started to cross the road, Sara taking the lead. Out of nowhere, a green Mercedes spun around the corner.  
  
"SARA!" Grissom screamed and grabbed the edge of her blouse, pulling her to the side of the road. The car continued on its way, not even noticing the three of us, staring at the now-empty road that lay before us.  
  
"Oh my God.." Sara breathed, holding one hand to her chest. She panted heavily before falling, face first, against Grissom's chest.  
  
"Shit." I swore. "That car almost pancaked you!"  
  
"Thanks Nick...." Grissom commented sarcastically, rubbing Sara's back. "..for that lovely overview."  
  
Sara was crying now, light, slightly muffled sobs into Grissom's blue cashmere sweater. He rubbed her hair, his eyes closed. His mind in another place. "Sh..." He whispered, and pressed his lips against her forehead. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable and, after looking both ways, started to walk slowly across the road to the Tahoe.  
  
The slam of the door snapped Grissom out of it, and he gently lifted Sara's head and looked her in the face. His lips moved, probably saying words of encouragement. God knows that's one thing I've never been good at. But Sara didn't need me, I knew that. Because she had Gil. As much as she thought she didn't, she did.  
  
  
  
  
  
"We got a murder weapon..." I sang, walking into the break room after we had sent all of the evidence in to Greg to be processed.  
  
"Really?" Catherine asked, and grinned. She lifted her eyes up to the ceiling and mouthed, "Thank you."  
  
Warrick chuckled and gave me a high five. "Nice job Bro." He said, and stood up. "I am going home. I've been here since five." He lifted up the fingers of one hand to emphasize his point.  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "You and Catherine were here alone since five? Uh-oh..." I mocked, dropping my coat down on one of the chairs. "I hope you acted professionally." I made a tsk-tsk sound with my tongue and Catherine rolled her eyes.  
  
"You are such a child." She said. Warrick laughed.  
  
  
  
A few minutes later Greg poked his head in the room and gave a thumbs- up to me and Catherine. "We got some kick-ass results, you guys. Check this out." We followed him into processing.  
  
"The blood on the knife matches Kortnee, and in case there was any doubt, boyfriend's prints were all over the knife. I got Warrick to do that just before he left. He gave me grief, but it was worth it." He was grinning like a monkey, so I slapped him on the back and congratulated him on a job well-done.  
  
"The yellow fibers?" I asked. "Anything on those?"  
  
"The fibers from the t-shirt Sara found in the kid's bedroom match the ones on Kortnee."  
  
"Along with the eye-witness account Warrick got from Kortnee, this damn thing is solves, baby." I lightly slapped Catherine on the back. She turned and gave me a look.  
  
"I'm saying this for your own good, Nick. Don't you ever call me that again."  
  
Greg suddenly frowned. "Where is Sara?"  
  
I shrugged. "Probably with Grissom. She almost got smashed by this car today on our way to the Tahoe."  
  
"You're kidding?" Catherine asked, her eyes wide. "Jeez...what happened?"  
  
"We were on our way across the road, some car came swerving around the corner, and Grissom pulled Sara out of the way JUST in time." I sighed. "It was pretty freaking scary."  
  
"Well, we solved this freaking case!!!" Warrick suddenly appeared from around the corner. "Let's go tell the rest of the gang!" He did a mock tap dance and motioned for us to follow him into the break room.  
  
"I thought you went home." I said. He didn't answer.  
  
Once we got to the break room, Sara and Grissom were sitting at the table with coffee mugs. I gave high-fives to everyone and then walked to the fridge. "Milk, anyone? It's on me."  
  
All of the five others presents voiced their enthusiasm, and in a few minutes I was sitting down to a cold one with some of my very best friends. 


	6. Greg

Part Six  
  
Greg  
  
  
  
Author's notes: Sorry this took so long, I've been horribly sick these past few days and could barely muster the strength to walk down the stairs let alone finish this story off. But here I am. Well, Greg is the POV in this one. As you know, he has emotional attachment to the case so it might get a little angsty. Also, things between Sara and Grissom heat up.  
  
Thanks: Thanks goes again to Katie and Tash, who helped me by reviewing this fic before it even got posted on fanfiction.net Thanks goes to everyone who reviewed the fic while I was still in the midst of doing. I would not have kept writing it if you hadn't. Also, thanks to Siren for the information on the knife. Ack, how many times did I change the wording in this story to make sure I didn't say "kill" or "murder", etc. Thanks for being so perceptive :)  
  
I hope I end this to all of your likings. Also, I'm not sure if Gil Grissom really IS a claustrophobic but I decided to take a chance.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
  
  
I was finally allowed to go visit Kortnee in the hospital. The doctors told me her condition was stabilized, and that she should be returning home in matter of weeks. Home now, however, wasn't much of anything at all. Desiree was still pretty beat up about the whole thing. She was being questioned about not letting go of any information during her questioning, even though she knew her boyfriend did it. I knew the answer, it was easy.  
  
He was more than abusive, he was a psychotic murderer. If he was willing to stab her little sister just because she broke up with him, imagine what he'd do to the rest of her family, or her, if she got him arrested for attempted murder? His cold eyes kept returning to my memory, the look of burning hatred he had released the night Desiree's parents had told him she was longer allowed to see him.  
  
It was a whole issue of power, for him. Even though Brian beat Dessy, she still didn't want to see him go. He convinced her that he owned her, that he had complete control over everything in her life. And she had told herself that was OK, until he stabbed her little sister.  
  
  
  
I went over to the hospital that night with Jessica, not really sure of what I was going to say to Kortnee. "Chances are she'll be sleeping." Jessica said to me as we drove, her fingers switching the radio station.  
  
I nodded. "I hope not," Was all I could manage before turning my head so she wouldn't see my tears. "I miss her." My voice was shaky.  
  
She smiled slightly and rested her hand on my wrist. "We all do." She said. "Especially Desiree..." she paused for a second, sighing and resting her head against the window. "I just thank God every day that she's still alive. And that they're putting that jerk-off Brian Dawson in juvey, at least."  
  
"Was the worst punishment they could manage for someone so young," I said, reassuring her that my colleagues had done everything in their power to make this guy pay for what he had done.  
  
"Right." She said absent-mindedly, fingering the outline of the trees on the window.  
  
  
  
We arrived at the hospital and I shut off the engine of my car, running to the other side just in time to open the door for Jessica. She giggled. "You're such a gentleman," she gushed, and hugged me. I sighed, basking in the comfort of where I stood. Glad nothing had happened to her. Glad that Kortnee was still alive.  
  
  
  
It's funny how when you lose something, that's when you really realize how much it meant to you. I've spent the past two years taking advantage of Jessica's wonderful family, the comfort of them, the safety of them. Going over there for dinner as often as I could, playing Scrabble with her parents and Barbies with her sisters.  
  
The night after Kortnee was stabbed I stayed home. Sat in front of the television, ate a dinner of macaroni and cheese and cried shamelessly while watching Brian's Song. (I only kept it at my apartment for when Jessica came over, obviously) I didn't want to go over to the Wallace's because I was afraid that the scenario that I had seen so often there would be shattered. But the truth is, seeing all of them crying in front of the fireplace, holding each other. That would have done me a whole lot of good. I would have realized that although I was extended family, I was still family. And that these wonderful people had so graciously let me into their family with open arms. And that I was lucky. Oh God, was I ever lucky.  
  
  
  
"Greg?" A light voice floated around me. "Greeeg?" I woke up to see Catherine's concerned face staring at me.  
  
"Wha-?" I jerked my whole body till I was standing. "Did I fall asleep?"  
  
"It sure seems that way." Catherine answered, smirking. "How long were you at the hospital last night?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Two, three?" I rubbed my eyes and looked at her, smiled a bit. "Anything you wanted?"  
  
"Yeah. Find Gil. I've been looking for him all night." She answered, grabbing her results from the printer and walking off. "And for pete's sake, go home and get some sleep."  
  
I grinned in spite of myself, then walked out of the room and into the hallway. Looking around, I tried to figure out which way to look first. "All right, if I was Grissom, where would I hide...?"  
  
A voice came from behind me. "Well, definitely not the closet, since I'm a claustrophobic." I turned around and giggled nervously.  
  
"Grissom!" I saw he was with Sara. They were holding hands. Well, this situation certainly wasn't getting any less awkward. "Right, well, I'll just go tell Catherine I've found you.."  
  
"No need for that, Greg." Catherine said from the doorway to the break room.  
  
"Does everyone just love to scare me?!" I asked, breathless. I held a hand to my chest and sighed heavily.  
  
"Sorry Greg." Sara apologized genuinely, but grinned in what I thought to be delirious happiness.  
  
"Did you get my DNA results for the new case?" Grissom asked, slowly walking to the lab.  
  
"Yeah." I said. "I forget what they were though." I blinked a couple times and yawned. "Can I go home now?" I pleaded.  
  
"Sure." Grissom said. "I don't see why not. Just be here bright and early tomorrow morning, this is a big case and we're going to need your help."  
  
"Right." I said, and started to pack my things and get ready to leave.  
  
Grissom gave Sara a quick kiss and left with Catherine. Sara stayed, standing above me. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head. Her breath was soft and even. "Greg?" I looked up.  
  
"Thanks for all your help with this case. Even though you were emotionally attached you didn't let your feelings get the better of you." She smiled, almost shy. Like she was nervous. "That's what every good CSI wishes they could say about themselves."  
  
I was flattered, but I didn't let it show. I only grinned and put my arm around her shoulders as we walked to the door. "So Sara, how did this whole thing with Grissom start?" 


End file.
